


Where One Starts From

by Nerdyesque



Series: Flashes in the pan [2]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdyesque/pseuds/Nerdyesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why was she contacting him again after all these years? What was the point of making a pact if she didn't abide by the rules? – first a letter, now a phone call. He supposed he should be surprised she knew where he lived, but then she had more than enough tools at her fingertips to hunt down anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where One Starts From

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot I never intend on expanding.

_Ten years. Damn, had it really been that long?_

Ben Lewis shook his head in consternation as he stared at the envelope in his hand, the return address from a place he'd half-convinced himself he dreamnt up, or more accurately, he  _wished_  was just a dream.

"Hey stud, what're you looking at?"

The bright cheery tones of his girlfriend shook him from his reverie and he turned to face Sara, her pretty face beaming up at him, and he discreetly tucked the letter into his back pocket.

"Waiting on you, as usual." He took a critical look at her outfit. "Perfecto mundo so totally worth it."

Sara's smile crinkled a little at the corner as puzzlement flashed across her face and he realized some California speak had slipped in, so he grabbed her into a big hug to deflect her thoughts.

"Ben, are you okay?"

"What, a guy can't hug his girl?"

"Uh, sure, but you're kind of, you know, squashing me."

He let go of her with a sheepish grin, his blue eyes gleaming at her from under a shock of golden hair. Desperation was unattractive in anyone, but right now he felt the hooks of the past trying to dig deep into his skin and drag him back screaming to the sinkhole of his childhood, the place he barely escaped from after a long and bloody process. He needed to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself grounded in the here, the now.

"Ben, what's wrong? You look really weird."

"I'm in my butterfly stage and I don't want to go back to being a catapillar." He knew she didn't understand, but the writing,  _so familiar,_  on the envelope panicked him, bringing up all those messy memories and feelings, things he'd successfully buried beneath the foundations of his new life.

No one here in Chicago knew or even cared who he once was; they only cared who he was now. And he kinda like the guy he faced in the mirror every morning, bright-eyed, (maybe not quite well) adjusted, and now with the love of his...he winced away from the cliché phrase because as much as he cared for Sara, best friend turned girlfriend, she really wasn't the love of his life.

 _No,_ she  _was back in_ thatplace _writing to me._

It was better if he just ignored the stupid letter and instead celebrated his (modest) success with his friends. He'd learned early the value of ignoring and pretending your sorrows away; they didn't actually go away, of course, but eventually they lost the immediacy of their hold and let you breathe.

"What's a guy gotta do to get his drink on, woman? The Macroni and Cheese King needs refreshment."

"Uh huh," Sara murmured, still clearly perplexed by his (for this new persona) uncharacteristic behavior, but gamely ignored it in favor of peace. That was what he enjoyed about her: she let things go and went with the flow. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, as he knew if they weren't expected somewhere, she'd probably interrogate him, but compared to the chicks he grew up with, she was much easier to handle.

He blanched at the parade of faces in his thoughts and forcefully shut the door on the past, silently lecturing his inner voice to shut the hell up and relax so he could be satisfied with the trappings of this new life; especially since it had taken pain, a fuckton of cash, and one very special brunette to make it happen. Ben scowled at the wayward thought since it definitely didn't fit into his evening's game plan of fun, frivolity, and hopefully fucking – the three Fs every one should follow.

* * *

"Seriously, Ben, what's up with you?"

Shaken from his inner dialogue, Ben looked up from the glass he'd been fixated on for the past twenty minutes and refocused on his friends surrounding him at their usual booth at their favorite neighborhood bar; each face looked at him in concern, unused to the quiet pale man sitting in their midst. He was their jokester, their jester, the one guaranteed to never let the mood grow somber; Sara's brow was furrowed in concern as she contemplated the cause of his behavior.

Panicked at being dissected, he blurted the first thought in his mind: "I'm going to take a trip to California. You know, thinking franchise, man, for the Mac and Cheese Truck. Those dudes will eat anything."

Inwardly he winced at the slip in language, but no one seemed to notice, too intent on bemoaning what an idiotic idea it was since he  _just_  started his business here and while he had some fledgling success, it was too soon to think about branching out. He gritted his teeth against the unsolicited advice because he knew everything they said made business sense, but it was the only thing he could think of to throw them off the scent. Sara reminded him a lot of someone in his non-Ben Lewis-past, with her incessant need to know everything and track down the root cause of it; probably why she was such a kick ass doctor.

Ben grinned fondly at his girlfriend and patted her hand, waggling his eyebrows when her brown eyes flashed to his. He could read the concern and worry, but he flirted with her until her cheeks grew rosy from his attention and her mouth opened a little in that special way which told him she was getting turned on but didn't want anyone to know. It thrilled him he had someone to know these little signs and he resolved to push all thoughts of the envelope out of his mind for tonight and always.

* * *

_Always_  lasted approximately two weeks.

It was a somber winter morning, typical of the Windy City, when Ben awoke tangled in his sheets, frowning when he realized he was alone. Sighing fitfully, he thrust his fingers through his hair, and eased out of bed, ignoring the shock of cold wood beneath his bare feet as he stumbled to the bathroom to do his business. After flushing the toilet and brushing his teeth, he more or less walked to the kitchen and started the process of making breakfast. It probably would've astounded anyone who didn't know  _this_  Ben Lewis, how self-sufficient he'd become, learning how to cook, clean, and do the basics things everyone without money or domestics took for granted.

He hummed as he made his omelet, mind racing as he mentally mapped the route he'd take today with the Mac & Cheese Truck, so he could be forgiven if he didn't notice the blinking light on his phone letting him know he had a voice mail for at least an hour. It was only after he was finished cleaning up his mess, that he saw the slim metal resting on the counter top. Sighing, thinking it was Sara leaving him a reminder message for something, he didn't bother checking the phone number; instead he pressed one and half-listened to the familiar voice-mail message before it spooled out the area code of the caller he'd missed. He froze when he heard three digits from the place he'd forgotten.

"Hey Ben, it's me. You need to come home as soon as possible. It's Betty; her water just broke."

Why was she contacting him again after all these years? What was the point of making a pact if she didn't abide by the rules? – first a letter, now a phone call. He supposed he should be surprised she knew where he lived, but then she had more than enough tools at her fingertips to hunt down anyone, much less a murderer on the lam. He winced away from the memory and returned his attention to the problem at hand. She'd said the code word which meant it was safe and then used the phrase that called for help. What the hell was going on?

The dial tone was thick in his ear when he finally disconnected, having played the ten second message over and over again, trying to discern any hidden meanings beyond the superficial. It was  _ten years_  since he left the shores of Neptune and traveled across the country into large metropolitan places because it was easier to get lost in the crowd than a small town where everyone knew everyone and strangers were suspicious. He'd initially wanted to do a global trip, but it was too tricky leaving the country with a forged passport, no matter how professionally done it was; Ben hadn't asked how she's gotten her hands on it nor had she volunteered the information. He still needed it for the occasional trip into Canada, but his buddies knew where the most lax Border Patrol guards were stationed and used those crossings to get in and out of both countries without too much hassle.

He pushed away thoughts of similar jaunts to Mexico in his ill-spent youth and redialed his voicemail box so he could delete the reminder of his  _other_  identity, someone who didn't exist in this time and space. Closing his phone with a satisfied click, Ben returned to his present with a grunt.

* * *

His satisfaction peaked at the height of his customers lining up to eat his food and being mentioned in a small blurb in the  _Chicago Sun-Times_. Since then, life felt flat and uninteresting as the past kept trying to bleed into the present, and discontent percolated through ever interaction he had; even sex with Sara was dull and pointless because though he was able to get her off (a point of pride for him), he was unable to follow suit, and had resorted to faking his own orgasm (really? What dude did that?) because he couldn't bear the anxious questions she kept asking or the gentle hints about seeing a doctor. He hoped she didn't think he was cheating on her, because he wouldn't do that, but he couldn't explain to her the source of his issues without delving into history she wasn't aware existed.

To her, and the rest of their friends, he was Benjamin Thomas Lewis, born and reared in Tallahassee, Florida who moved to Chicago after high school so he could get away from incessant sunshine and experience real weather. It wasn't far from the truth, which was good since it was something someone he refused to name, had once advised him: a good cover story hinged on the story teller's belief in their own words. It didn't matter if the listener believed so much as the teller did because then it had more credibility. He'd scoffed when he'd first hear that, but in the years hence, he'd realized she spoke the truth; though it shouldn't be surprising given this one's obsession with finding it and exploiting it to her (or those she loved) gain.

* * *

Four months passed in this manner until one day Sara snapped, her fierce brown eyes intent on him, fingers clenched into two small fists. Ben stared at her in resignation because he realized his fork in the road was upon him, and he had to make Robert Frost's decision, and he honestly wasn't sure which road  _he'd_  choose.

"Ben, what the hell is wrong with you?"

He turned towards the window and stared out across the city-scape with an unseeing gaze.

"I'm leaving."

The words were as surprising to her as they were to him. He hadn't planned on saying it, but once said, couldn't be taken back and it felt like a huge boulder was lifted from his chest until he could finally breathe again.  _This_  life was starting to crush him.

"What? Why? Are you having an affair?"

His shoulders hunched forward as he pressed his forehead against the glass. In a way he was, but not quite as she was thinking. Lately his dreams were filled with a sardonic eccentric brunette with streaked hair who kept pacing across a familiar wind-swept cliff, her face sad and longing as she quietly called his name. His  _real_  name. It was actually a memory, the last one he had of her before his actions caused a rift in their future, leaving her on one side and him on the other, the distance unspanned because he had to protect her; he'd hated what he'd done, but he'd do it again. In that moment, Ben finally understood his best friend and his tireless efforts to protect what was most important to him, and silently begged forgiveness for all the harsh words he'd ever uttered.

"No, not that. I'm leaving, going home."

He felt more than heard the sigh leaving her and knew Sara hadn't understood what he meant. How could she when she really didn't know him? She knew Ben Lewis, but he wasn't that guy, hadn't been for awhile now, not since the letter, the phone call; evidence of a skeletal bridge being built so he could go home.

"Oh that's it? Are you going to visit their graves?"

Ben kept his laughter to himself at her hushed tone because she wouldn't get it; the Lewises were dead because there was actually a couple old enough to have a son his age. It was part of the very simple but extremely thorough cover story to change his identity.

"Yeah, I am and I'm not coming back Sara. This place just ain't me any more."

"But...I thought we had plans...we're in love..."

It physically hurt to hear the pain in her voice, especially since she'd been the most genuine person he'd ever met; their friendship had started when she struck up conversation at the mailbox they shared in an old apartment complex eight years ago, slowly progressing from acquaintances to good friends, and eventually to lovers. Ben Lewis was able to move on, start something new, and lead that life contentedly, but now it was over despite the real pang of pain and love striking him.

"I love you, but I need to go."

* * *

He stepped outside the terminal, all his worldly possessions packed into one suitcase. As soon as he'd made the decision to leave Chicago, he's sold or given away everything tied to the old identity. None of his friends understood him or his desire to leave, but he made a break (not clean, not neat, and horribly horribly hurtful) so he could come back to California unencumbered.

"Hi Dick."

Her voice was sweet and low, as husky as he remembered, and he turned with a pleased smile, not even bothering to ask how she'd known he was coming when he never called or wrote her back.

"Hey Mac. How's life?'

Dick Casablancas put on the gold aviator sunglasses she silently held out to him, relishing the sun baking into his skin, and the smell of smog and beach and salt in his nose. He shuddered slightly, sloughing off all remnants of the past ten years and drew a deep breath, then held out both hands with a wink.

"Book 'em Dano."

Special Agent Cynthia Mackenzie took out her heavy steel cuffs and snapped them around his wrists before quietly speaking into the mic attached to her collar, telling the unseen voice she'd gotten the package. He briefly wondered if Veronica was on the other end, but then shrugged the thought away as unimportant; this wasn't their call, bringing him in the for the murder, but he'd known they would try to be there, to ease his way through the justice system, just as they had helped facilitate his escape years prior. He'd known what he would face once he crossed state lines, but it just seemed fitting to end it where it all started. It was good to be home.

"It's good to be home."

**Author's Note:**

> I know technically this isn't a LoVe story - though there is a small blink and you'll miss it mention of them - but I didn't feel it should be its own story either, so that's why it got dumped here. I have no idea who Dick murdered or why, other than he had a deep abiding love for Mac and did it for her protection. I've never written a MaDi story before and really doubt I'll start, but this is the closest I'll probably come. One thing though I do have to point out : Ryan Hansen, the actor who played Dick, was on a new show (now canceled) called "Friends with Benefits" and I watched one episode - Ben Lewis seemed like an adult version of Dick, so I think that's where the first part came from (some of the dialogue is directly imported from there). The rest of it was all me.


End file.
